Worth A Thousand Words
by ketamine.methanol
Summary: Random pairings, random stories, random word generator. Combine, and you get a lot of oneshots. M for possible mature content in future chapters, and language.
1. Stenny

**A/N:** Hey, so. I'm doing random one-shots for practise with a random word generator. (I totally hacked this idea from The Zoshi and her K2 word generator challenge, but I have no fixed number of one-shots and no fixed pairings. It's really just... well, yeah. Practise. Not much else.)

I'll take pairing requests in reviews if you want. Anything - homo, het, doesn't matter. Can even be more than two characters, but I'm not making promises. A lot may just be friendfics. Ahhh I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.

Ratings are at M just in case. There may be adult situations and mature content in other chapters depending.

Thanks for reading up mates.

Here's my crappy starter chapter. Enjoy. (Errgh.)

* * *

**-- 001: Stenny - "Storage" --**

**

* * *

**

"What in the hell is this?"

Kenny pulled the wrapped box from the attic's disarray and Stan turned to look, his eyebrows raising at the sight. "Shit. Don't open that."

"Why? Looks like a birthday present or somethin'." Kenny blew some dust from the top and walked over in time for Stan to take the box from Kenny's hands.

"It's not. It's a time capsule."

"It's a god damn box wrapped in gift paper, dude."

"No, it's a _time capsule_. Cut me some slack, Kenny, I was five when I made this."

Kenny rose one eyebrow in a way he was infamous for, mussing his hair a bit as he looked at the box in question. Stan held it in a way that someone might hold their child out of reach of a homeless man on a street corner with bad teeth. Kenny wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel offended or not.

"Stan."

"Yeah?"

"We're twenty. Y'do realize that, right?"

Stan gave him a steady look. "Yeah, so?"

Kenny stole the box back, his dark-haired counterpart reaching helplessly for it's return but getting no offering. Kenny grinned. "You're supposed to open a time capsule after ten years, aren't ya?"

Stan blanched, glancing down at the dusty wrapping job and then glancing back up at Kenny slowly. "Well, yeah... I guess so. But I'm not gonna open it with you here, dude. It's a time capsule. I've had it in storage for fifteen years, I don't even remember what's in it anymore."

"Oh, I think you do, Marsh. And that's why you don't want me lookin' in it. Am I right?"

Stan cursed Kenny for his smarts coming out at the worst of times - mostly in Stan's favour. His breath caught a bit at the sound of ripping paper; Kenny peeled back the Toy Story-printed wrapping and let it fall to the insulated floor of the attic, blue eyes searching for the opening side before he peeled back the lid, dropping to the hardwood floor.

The collection of objects was comical. A few papers with childish writing - little notes that Stan had written that were nearly illegible now to even Stan himself. Some kiddy clay figurines joined the papers as Kenny removed them one by one, Stanley feeling slowly more and more stripped of his personals with each shed object.

Lastly were the photographs, and these Stan remembered well. Toothy grins from himself, Kenny, Kyle, Eric - their general group of friends, along with the kindergarten class photograph that marked most of their friendships in the first place. Stan looked on awkwardly as Kenny flipped the photos onto their backs, grinning a little to himself.

"You always had the best intuition out of the four of us, you know? Or so I think," Kenny said, tilting his head to the side and holding out a photo of the four of them linked at arms, albeit Kyle, who was punching Eric in the jaw by some predictable insult.

Stan took the photograph, flipping it over to reveal the sloppy '_frens forevar' _written in blue crayon across the back of the Polaroid, and grinned to himself as he kicked Kenny in the leg and tossed the photo back in the box for reflecting upon another day in the future.


	2. Staig

**A/N:** Yeah awesome. Here's part two. This was kind of an old oneshot I had running but I decided to finish it to fit this theme (I have hundreds of WIPs I will probably try to finish and stick into this). So yeah. Have some angst. Enjoy. (Also, sorry for the re-upload, there was a typo I just couldn't leave.)

* * *

**-- 002: Staig - "Holding" --**

**

* * *

**

Sometimes I still smell you, and I think about the little things that we did together that always meant nothing at the time.

I think you clipped the nail on my pinky finger once. You criticized me for having a crack nail and I just laughed at you. You'd think someone would forget something so stupid, but it's those little things that I remember the best.

I think that, maybe, I should have paid more attention. Like, it's completely numbing without you here. Actually, it's like barely being here at all. I co-exist with the world, as much of a soul as you are now. I think about you a lot - no, I'm always thinking about you. Your scent still lingers on your side of the bed that I try to avoid sleeping on for fear my own might diminish it, and your clothes still lay in their pile on the floor from last Friday when you left, and I try to tell myself that soon I'll wake up and it'll be all over and I won't have to worry about what side of the bed I sleep on anymore because you'll always take up the other side I'm considering taking for my own.

I'm unhealthy. You were my life force. I haven't been into work. Actually, I haven't left the apartment at all. I pace through the kitchen two times a day considering a meal but give up after when the nausea from your absence returns when I accidentally set the table for two by some pipe dream that you might stop by for dinner or something like that.

Do ghosts even eat?

When you told me you liked shit boring I never imagined you could actually get bored of living. There's still some crime scene tape stuck to the sofa but I refuse to touch it; it's presence alone lingers like a poisonous reminder that you're dead and it keeps me in line when I try not to blame myself. Maybe I could have paid more attention - no, I should have paid more attention. I had to. If I had, I might have acknowledged your underlying depression better. Or maybe I was just in denial about it the whole time.

When I wander the house, I pick up and put down little things that make everything seem vague. It's almost like you were never here some days, and it's like I'm crying over nothing. The dog hates me because I won't play with her and she is about as miserable as me without you. Sometimes we come together in our mourning - she'll curl up with me in our bed while I cry about you and she nudges your pillow with her nose and whimpers. I have to say I have to pity her more because she was home when you...

Well, you know what you did.

I remember once Kenny was telling me about hell. He told me that the suicides went there and had no escorts for exactly that reason - they knew what they did. They knew where they were going and there shouldn't have been any surprise at all to them when they got there.

I wonder if you were surprised. I wonder if you were still holding on to a bit of life when you got there, and I wonder if you thought maybe you'd made a mistake. I wonder if you thought of me, of our dog, of our home and of our future. Not me - it's never about _me_. It's about _us_, Craig. It's always been about us. _We _were rivals in grade school, _we _were rivals on the football team in our freshman year and _we _were lovers since your eighteenth birthday when _we _did it in the back of your dad's van. _We _own our little vet clinic in Colorado Springs.

We. Us. You and me. Together. Forever. You know?

It's probably going to be madman's speak to anyone who reads this, but it doesn't matter. See, we do do everything together, and I guess that's why I asked Kyle to take care of our dog this morning. He'll take good care of her, and he kind of understands, I guess. Not about what you did, or what I'm going to do, but he understands that I can't have her suffer at the moment I do this like she had to when you left.

Well, it's my turn now. I'm coming after you. We'll be together, and maybe I'll understand from your point of view what happened. I'll take the place on the chair in the living room, and I'll put my head in your body. I'll feel that rope around my throat and I'll stand in your position. I'll feel that I have nothing to lose, because the most important thing to me is already lost. It's only been a few days, and I'm already tired of it being just me.

It can't just be me.

It'll never just be me.

It has to be _us_.


	3. K2

**A/N:** Ahh, okay, to get the end of this you kind of need to have a bit of an idea of American Geography, so I suggest you look at a map of the USA to get it if you're not native to the states (even I had to, living in Canada LOL I was like hmm how can this work). So yeah, I'm not sure if I love this story or hate it. It feels kind of drawn out to me but I like it no less I'm not too sure.

Also, it should be noted that in the letters, the errors are purposeful. As for the rest of the story, the error's aren't. It's 3am so, I'm sorry if I'm kind of grammar-retarded.

I hope you enjoy either way.

* * *

**-- 003: K2 - "Floor" --**

**

* * *

**

The hammer was proving more difficult than Kyle had imagined, and with his constant prying, his energy zapped itself from his body and he sat down to rest. He stared at the rusty nails scattered around him and bit into the side of his wrist with an emptier sigh than intended.

His work restarted in a matter of time, and once more the disassembly of the floor of the little shack became his goal. One of the floorboards - one of them would be the one he needed, and even if it took him the entire afternoon, he would be uprooting the one he needed. Even if it killed him. Even if things didn't matter anymore.

Each nail came up with a pained memory surfacing, from his childhood to his adult years. His forehead numb with stress and sweat, he tried to imagine how many times he'd actually been nailed into that floor himself, and how many times he'd nailed one of the shack's occupants against it as well. The memories bit into him more and more with each splintering two by four, and as he hoisted up a one coupled by rotting of age, Kyle's lip curled a bit as his treasure was revealed beneath the ply.

Pulling the wear-and-tear shoe box, grey with it's isolation in the dark for at least a decade, Kyle swallowed, letting the object hover in his palms as though fearful that what he needed inside would have dilapidated with time. Standing slowly, he crossed the room to sit in the patch of sunlight by the window, brushing tell-tale red curls from his line of vision and finally gathering the nerve to peel the pieces of curly cardboard apart.

A breath escaped him, something he hadn't been aware of holding, and likely only leaving in relief. Pulling out the collection of papers with a level of hesitance, he dropped them beside him on the dust-strewn floor, ignoring the smear of sweat on his forehead from his own palm to come to terms with his nostalgia.

Letters.

Kyle's fingers curled around the aged printer paper with nerves renewed in their sentiment. From the corners peeking out from some unclosed envelopes, he could recognize the cursive of his own writing, something perfected due to the tight-laced nature he'd grown up with and still not grown out of. Along with his own letters read back to him ones he'd never gotten the opportunity to read - three of them, titled to himself, in a familiar print.

Pulling a post-it from his pocket, Kyle stared at it for a long moment before holding it up to compare. No doubt, it was a match.

Kenny's.

His breath left him in a mix between a tight laugh and a choke of anxiety. Peeling back the envelope of the oldest dated note, he flipped the paper open slowly and ready quietly to himself out loud.

_"Kyle,_

_It's been five days since you moved and you've already sent me two letters dude. I feel bad that I can't afford to send these back to you but things are ruff here and I'm trying to save up so maybe I can come visit you in California some time after senior year. I know that's like two years away but it's okay because I seriously think I will wait that long. Maybe if I can borrow Eric's computer some time I can email you and let you know wassup n stuff._

_Kenny."_

Kyle dampened his lips, staring the letter down longer than necessary before discarding it to the side and flipping to the next one and following the same routine as prior.

"_Hey Kyle,_

_It's me again and it's been like, forever years since I bothered doing this. I don't know why I'm writing this anyway since you'll never get it but I guess it's just something to do to pass the time. Not that you're interested in my life because fuck dude you live in California still according to the letter I got at Jewmas (haha jewish and christmas) but hey a best friend can dream, right? Nah I'm just kidding man you better be interested in me. So my dad finally kicked the bucket a few days ago but it was only a matter of time. Mom is super bummed and Karen is taking it kinda bad but I dunno Kevin doesn't even know cuz we haven't seen him in a year and I guess I'm sorta bummed but I think I'll be good. I can visit him in hell and stuff if I stop by there again sometime soon. So this is getting kinda long and I'm gonna cut it here cuz I have to do some stuff but whatever. _

_Kenny._"

Kyle stopped again to absorb the full text before picking up the last letter from within the box and peeling it open to read.

"_Kyle,_

_Things are going pretty rough. I'm moving out in a few days and taking my sister and mom with me cuz mom is getting a job out of town and she's going to need the help she can get. I'm really scared to leave south park. I'm more scared because I don't think I'll get your letters anymore. Your letters keep me in my place and I feel kind of informed. I can't believe you're still writing me after all these years. I called Stan last week on a payphone and he said he hasn't heard from you since he graduated high school and I feel pretty special. I've been thinking about how you're moving out with that dude from your dorm and I gotta say I'm super jealous. I wonder if you guys are seeing eachother, probably, because you're such a queer-o dude. I dunno if well okay let me restart that._

_I'm thinking back to when you left in highschool and I can't believe you still write to me all the time like seven years later. I miss you so much dude. I miss what we had too. I was so bad for you but you were so right for me and I guess I just miss you that much. Life just aint the same since you left and your letters just dont suffice. I guess I'm just gonna tuck this shit away and you're never gonna read it either so writing it out is pointless so I guess it makes me feel better in the end_."

Kyle paused, rolling his shoulders forward a bit as he chewed on his lower lip and pressed himself forward with a wavering voice.

"_One day I'm gonna meet up with you again and you'll probably have some nice guy and a big house and all that and you'll have forgotten about me. I dunno. But I'm gonna see you because I love you. I told you before you left and I would tell you again if I could but that's not a reality right now so... I guess I gotta leave and hope for the best. I hope you still send me letters even if I don't get to read some of them. Maybe I'll come back to look some days. But I swear I'll find you, I'll bring your address with me and I'll finally get to California and see you again. Or maybe you can 'meet me half way'. _

_Love Kenny_."

The silence following the last two words pressed in on Kyle in an effect he hadn't known possible for the longest time. He glanced up, fidgeting within the folds of his jacket in the May weather before pulling the post-it back out of his pocket, where upon it were written instructions.

_Kyle,_

_Go to the old McCormick house. Under one of the floor boards in the third room you'll find a shoe box with some old letters. Open it. _

_When you see the three you don't recognize, take them out and read them aloud. _

Kyle stared at the paper, aware he'd followed all of the instructions with care. He glanced down at the rusty nails and then back at the three notes set aside for him specifically, trying to process the significance of his venture. He'd felt that there should have been some kind of reward behind this. Or perhaps a reunion of sorts, something he'd prayed for for a long, long time.

Standing slowly amongst the scattered papers on the floor, he stepped over the shoe box to stare out the broken window at the rusted train tracks north to the dilapidated shack of what was once known as a house. A piece of him was stunned it was even still there at all, and he gazed down at the post-it at his fingers, trying to decipher some kind of secret message maybe embedded in the text, some kind of alternate direction that he maybe missed, but nothing.

Point blank, Kenny had meant something sending him a letter with no return address to come back to the place of their childhood. Doctor Broflovski had taken a hasty plane back into Colorado for the first time in around twelve years, and now with his age rounding his twenty-seventh birthday, Kyle began to question his going there at all, his hopes, and his motives all-around in the first place.

A sound of creaking boards snapped him out of his contemplations and he turned, a faint feeling rising in his chest as he stood in place, the piece of paper still pressed between his thumb and index finger as the door to Kenny's bedroom opened. A tall blond moved through the door, features distinguishable only as the bedroom's previous owner's, even through a good decade and something of ageing. Kyle felt the slip fall from his fingertips as the other man peeked his face over a plaid sweater, grin treating his face with perfect teeth that almost gave Kyle a start.

"I got my degree a few months ago. I'm officially a dentist. Fancy that, huh? I live in Illinois."

Kyle stared as the other man's words processed, before beginning to laugh, doubling over and pressing his fingertips into the knees of his jeans before stumbling through the rusty nails and jarred floorboards to throw his arms around Kenny's shoulders, pressing their mouthes together in a longing mingle. After several minutes passed, mostly of intimate kissing, Kyle smiled as he pulled away slowly from the man that had a hold on his heart strong enough to write to for years and years passed.

"_Meet me half way_..."


End file.
